


A Bobble Has No End

by Magpienix



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hogwarts Professors, Past Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Past Rape/Non-con, Post-Hogwarts, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2020-12-13 23:16:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21005783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magpienix/pseuds/Magpienix
Summary: Severus hasn't seen Hermione since she appeared at his trial, two months after she saved his life in the Shrieking Shack. How is he supposed to cope when she starts teaching at Hogwarts seven years later, and who hired Ron Weasley to teach Quidditch?WIP





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is cliché and I'm far too old to be writing fanfic but I couldnt get this story out of my head on the commute.

"No", Harry breathed, fingers twitching around the vial, "he can't be..."

He shook his head, as if to erase the memories of the last 20 minutes. Corking the vial, he turned to Hermione, "what now?"

"We need to go, mate," Ron interjected, clamping a hand on his friend's shoulder, eyes glued to the window, "Hogwarts... We -"

"Hogwarts, yeah, the pensieve... Hermione, you coming?"

Ron tore his eyes away from the window and seemed to finally see Hermione for the first time. Was this really the girl he'd just kissed?The girl who'd spent the whole year saving them and keeping them together was falling apart and he didn't know what to do. She just knelt there, mouthing words he didn't understand, brows knitted together and fierce eyes studying the prostrate body before her. She said nothing. Had said nothing since she'd conjured that vial, seeming to know instinctively what Snape needed. He shook Harry's shoulder again and opened his mouth to speak when the sound of Voldemort's voice boomed around them, summoning Harry to the forest.

"That cu-"

"Let's go", Harry growled, that glint in his eye Ron recognised from their first year when hed believed Snape was hiding something. But he'd been wrong, then. Snape had been helping them. Had they been wrong the whole time? Was Harry wrong now? Was leaving really the right choice? Ron stared at his two best friends, his family, and imagined apparating them away, out of the country. They could start a new life, but they'd never be free, not until they'd finished the job. He nodded at Harry and, steeling his nerve, followed him down the passage back to Hogwarts.

_I regret it. _

Why had he said that? Did he regret killing Snape? Destroying Hogwarts? Making the horcruxes? Could he feel regret? Of course he could. He was human, with complex emotions, and that frightened her. He'd always been a thing to her, some serpentine half-creature bent on hatred and chaos. But if he regretted killing Snape then he knew how to feel, he wasn't wholly evil. Nobody is born evil, she knew that, nor was it in fact possible to be wholly evil, but she didn't like the evidence of the fact.

_I regret it. _

Harry and Ron's footsteps faded away into nothing. She was alone. Blinking, she allowed herself for the first time to pull her eyes away from the bite wounds to look at her Professor's face, inhaling sharply.

In rest, she could finally see him for the age he was. A young man, not even 40, younger than both of her parents. His brow was relaxed and low, his lips parted slightly and his eyelashes fluttering on his cheeks.

"Professor? Professor Snape? Please, wake up, Severus, please", she rambled, her mind whirring. While Ron and Harry had been talking, she'd been racking her brain trying to remember how Arthur had been saved from Nagini's bite. Snape. It had been Snape. It had always been Snape.

"For fuck's sake", she mumbled.

Reaching in to her bag she pulled out Dittany, bandages, pain reliever and Pepper-up, getting to work without thinking. She pressed salve on his wounds, ripping off his shirt to have better access to his neck and using her bobble to tie his hair back.

"Huh", she paused, fingers skirting through his black locks, "for a greasy git you've got pretty silky hair you big bat". She carried on talking as she poured the potions down his throat. "Severus Snape I swear to God if you don't wake up and tell me how to save you I'm going to kill you all over again. And I _won't_ regret it."

Suddenly he jerked awake, coughing incessantly. It was an awful sound, scraping through the bleeding wounds on his neck.

"Fucking hell, easy on the Pepper-up!" Snape wheezed. She stared, open-eyed, as steam poured out of his ears and his eyes snapped open, welling with tears. He fixed her with a leer.

"What the hell are you trying to do, Granger, burn me alive?"

"I'm trying to save you you ungrateful bast-"

"Do you even know how? I was eaten by a bloody snake!" Snape tried to sit up, but quickly ran out of breath and collapsed back down, clutching at his neck.

"You're awake, aren't you?" She growled, folding her arms.

Hermione watched as he wheezed and pulled his hand away, staring at the black mix of venom and blood on his porcelain skin. Slowly, he turned to look at her, panic in his eyes. He mouthed something, but no sound came out. His breathing became frantic and he reached for her.

"Gr-Gran-" his eyes closed with the effort and he breathed deeply before trying again. "Gra-" he turned soft eyes on her, "Miney."

He was trying to say her name. She took his hand and clasped it between her own. "What can I do, Professor?"

"Pott-" his voice failed him again and he looked at her desperately before turning his head to look out of the window. "Potter. Over."

"It's not over, Sir, he took your memories. He's still alive, he just left with Ron. He's still alive, we're still alive," Hermione knew she was babbling but she couldn't seem to stop. "We're still alive, we're still alive," she kept repeating until he finally turned back to her, piercing her again with those dark, young eyes.

"Why?"

She stared back at him. He was scared, angry, resigned. She exhaled and squeezed his hand. "Just help me, please." Her lip quirked on one side. "Think of how many points you can take from gryffindor if I fail."

Snape raised an eyebrow and stared at her, studied her. Eventually a glimmer passed through his eyes and he rasped out, "wand".

Hermione scrabbled for her wand, but when his eyebrow rose again she caught his meaning, picked up his wand, and handed it to him, feeling a rush of magic as it passed between them and their fingers brushed. Snape pointed his wand at his neck wound and started singing so lightly Hermione had to strain to catch that he was chanting some unknown spell. Time seemed to stand still until he looked at her in anguish and reached for her hands. He manouevered her until she was leaning over him, sweeping her hair over her shoulder away from his face, and positioning her wand close to his so the tips were pressed together against the wound. He picked up her other hand by the wrist, and brought it up to the wound.

"Pinch."

Hermione glanced at him, expecting him to say more, but he resumed chanting. He nodded at her to do as she'd been told, brushing his fingers over her own until he felt her pinch at his wound. He hissed and clenched his eyes, but when she loosened her grip he squeezed her wrist. Hermione tested different pressures while he chanted, determined to stop the bleeding, only staying in place once he started to gently stroke her wrist with his thumb. She had no idea how long they stayed like that, their wands pressed together, bodies pressed together, Snape soothing her with his strokes while he worked on himself, but her heart ached. At some point in the evening, saving this man beneath her had become her only goal. Her mind ran at a mile a minute while she watched his spell seep black venom out of his throat. She didn't allow herself to wonder what was happening, choosing to focus instead on what she would have to do next. She understood enough to know that once the venom was out it would be safe to focus on bandaging the wound and stem the bleeding, but would he be able to walk? He could talk, quietly and raspy but he could talk, and his breathing seemed to be steadying the more he chanted. She paid attention to the rasp of his voice. Water. He'd need water. And a blanket. And then she could take him to Madam Pomfrey and -

"Shit," she gasped. Snape glared at her. "Madam Pomfrey! I-"

"Stop," he gritted out mid-chant, gripping her wrist. "Check the venom."

Hermione nodded and, looking down, saw that his wound was for the first time that night running bright red. The venom was gone. She breathed a sigh of relief she hadn't realised she'd been holding and got back to work; Dittany, bandages, diagnostic charms. When she was satisfied he was no longer bleeding, she conjured a glass and cast an _aguamenti_ to fill it with water. Finally looking at him, she brushed his hair out of his face and helped him to sit up to drink. He wasn't looking at her.

"Potter." He eventually spat out. "Where is Potter?"

Before she could answer, a silvery Jack Russel pounded through the entrance from the tunnel and barked out in Ron's voice,

"Hermione where the fuck are you? Harry's gone to the forest, he's gone to him. Hermione for the love of fuck Harry's gone to kill himself and you're nowhere in bloody sight get your fucking self down here now and help me save him!"

Hermione couldn't speak. Her eyes felt like they were about to bulge out of her head and her heart thumped in her ears. Scrabbling to her feet, she grabbed her wand and, without so much as a backwards glance, ran out of the Shack.

Severus watched her go. Too weak to ask her to stay. Unsure why he wanted her to stay. For want of something to do, he took a gulp of water and ran his fingers through his hair. When they caught on soft fabric, he frowned, and pulled the bobble from his hair. Her bobble. That blooming gobby Gryffindor Princess had saved him then left him in a pool of his own drying blood with just her sodding bobble for support.

Potter.

He winced as he whipped his head around to the window, then screamed as his Dark Mark burned victoriously. They boy had done it, then. Dumbledore's lamb was slain. Severus resisted the urge to roll his eyes, and clenched his fist around the bobble to ease the pain in his forearm. Nothing. He summoned his biggest glare and stared at the burning mark, willing it to stop. Unbidden, his mind went to the Granger girl, and he slipped the bobble around his wrist. The second the material touched his mark, the pain ebbed.

"Huh", he breathed, fiddling with the bobble and remembering the smell of her hair, the urgency in her voice when she begged him to survive, the relief when he did. If he closed his eyes he could still hear her saying his name. Twice. "This is inconvenient."

He looked up at the silhouette of Hogwarts out of the window. Voldemort was celebrating. Who knows what havoc he'd now bring down on that castle and its inhabitants. On his colleagues, students, friends. He jumped to his feet.

On her.

_How dare she_, he thought, _how dare she keep me alive just to run to her own death? Foolish, headstrong girl._ A fire of energy flamed inside him, one he hadn't felt in years. A flash of auburn hair flashed into his mind, only to be replaced by deep brown eyes. 

He shook his head, banishing all thoughts of his student and focusing on the task in hand. Living. Checking out the window that the castle's wards were down he staggered to his feet, turned on the spot, and disappeared.

Swaying from the travel and his fresh injuries, Snape thought he'd arrived in Hell. Voldemort was there, grinning and cheering like a Lord posessed. The air was thick with sorrow and a sound the like of which Snape never wanted to hear again.

Hermione was screaming.

......

Hermione sat at the dining table in the Burrow, a large cup of tea in front of her, absent-mindedly stroking her wrist with her thumb as she was wont to do since... Since that night. She closed her eyes and imagined the sound of his chanting and tried to time her breathing to the spell.

_One... Two... Three... Four... Fi- _

"'Mione'! Get that tea down your gob we're leaving!"

"Ron!" Hermione heard rather than saw Molly slap her son with the towel she'd been using to dry the dishes. "Leave her be, you've got time."

Ron tutted, "Mum if we don't leave now we won't get the good seats."

"Good seats? GOOD SEATS? Ronald Weasley a man's life is at stake!"

"Yes, and I want to see him _at_ the stake." At that, Hermione opened her eyes and stared at Ron. She sipped her tea, waiting for him to make eye contact. When he did, she scowled and stood, adjusting her pencil skirt and positioning her blazer to drape over her chest. She brushed her hair over her shoulder, wishing again that she could remember where she'd lost her bobble.

"Alright, Ronald, I'm coming."

Ron was staring at her, jaw dropping and eyes flitting between her chest and her hem. It wasn't that she had much skin on show, but after a summer of Molly's cooking she'd finally started to out on a bit more weight and now her body suited her. She was no longer a skinny girl foraging for mushrooms in unwashed jeans, she was a woman ready for her day in court.

Ignoring Ron's slackjaw expression, she looked at Harry and handed him his jacket from the seat next to her.

"Ready?"

"Are you?"

She nodded, glancing at Ron before continuing, "I'm ready. I just hope we get the right outcome."

Ron scoffed and pointed leeringly at his left forearm before stepping into the Floo and calling out for the Ministry of Magic.

"Don't worry, 'Mione", Harry smiled, "the right man's going to win."

Before she could ask what he meant by that, he winked at her, adjusted his grey and silver tie, and together they followed Ron through the Floo.

....

Severus sat in front of the Headmistress' desk, a glass of whisky levitating beside him, absent-mindedly pulling on the bobble around his wrist, as he had been wont to do since... Since that night. He closed his eyes and imagined a quirked lip and an angry quip. 

_You're awake, aren't you? _

"Alright seeing as everyone's here we'll begin then shall we?" McGonagall's lilting brogue interrupted his thoughts.

Severus looked around at the crowd in the office, mentally ticking off positions. He turned back to McGonagall and raised an eyebrow: they were three short.The Headmistress rolled her eyes at her staff's questioning looks before continuing.

"As you know, Professors Sprout and Hooch have retired this year - I needn't remind you all of their housewarming party this coming Saturday, I'm sure we're all looking forward to another taste of their punch", there were sniggers around the room as McGonagall tilted her head in Flitwick's direction.

The Charms Professor tittered and shrugged at them. "I'm sure I don't know to what you're referring, Minerva, but I'm certain a good time was had by all." Snape laughed in to his whisky as he remembered the old man dancing on the tabletop after one too many glasses of said rum punch, before deciding to test the rules of motion on their new ceiling fan.

"Yes, Filius, indeed there were. Now," continued McGonagall, "as I'm sure you've all noticed, their departure plus that of Professor Slughorn leaves us short of a few teaching staff. Severus has kindly offered to revive his old post of Potions, after eight years of teaching Defence against the Dark Arts."

She smiled as he tipped her glass to her, an expression which was soon reflected on his own face as his colleagues cheered with a round of" Welcome home, Severus" and "We knew you couldn't stay away for long".

"In addition," the matriarch said over the din, "Severus has agreed to return to the position of head of Slytherin House. Let me echo the sentiments of our esteemed colleagues and say welcome back, from what I gather from the Ghosts and House Elves the dungeons have been quite lost without you.

"However, as I am sure this news is not news to any of you present, I propose we move on to the vacant seats of Flying, Herbology and Defence against the Dark Arts."

Here McGonagall took an almost conspiratorial look to which Snape cocked an eyebrow but said nothing. She waved a carefree hand and her office door swung open. All but Snape turned to look as she continued.

"Let me introduce - or rather reintroduce - the respective occupants of those roles, Professors Weasley, Longbottom and Granger." 

Snape barked out a laugh before he could stop himself. "Fifty points from Gryffindor there, Minerva, shocking bias." He looked over his head to Flitwick and Sinistra for back-up. "Looks like we're entering the lion's den now, huh?"

Flitwick chuckled into his own whisky, hiding his embarrassment behind a hiccough, as Sinistra raised her hands in mock defence.

"Don't look at me, Severus, Minerva did say we could offer suggestions."

Snape scowled at her and turned back to his whisky with a sigh. One look at McGonagall was enough to make him want to tip the whole glass back, the damn bint was loving every second of this. His mind was racing as to possible reasons why the Gryffindor Princess should choose to take over his job, what she was doing here, and why she hadn't tried to contact him once since leaving the Shack that night. He bristled with anger.

"Come, Severus, I'm sure we can all offer our new colleagues a hello at least."

With that, McGonagall stood and walked over to her Gryffindors, tousling his hair as she passed. He tutted loud enough for her to hear and made a great show of brushing his fringe back up in to a point and making sure his short sides were smoothed down before standing in turn to greet the new professors.

He regretted it instantly. He fiddled with the bobble on his wrist incessantly, hoping it could bring back his great frock coat. At least then he'd be wearing something to cover the shock of seeing her again. He pushed his sleeves up nervously, exposing his now bare forearm, and waited. Soon Sinistra was back in her seat and it was his turn to greet his former students. He downed the last of his whisky with a gulp.

Hermione couldn't help but stare as he swallowed down the amber liquid, his Adam's apple bobbing. She followed the line of his throat down, and was surprised to see a checked dark blue and gold collar poking out over the top of a deep green sweater. His shoulders and chest were filled out nicely, and where she once had seen an ugly mark his forearms were clear and showed defined muscles. His jeans fit nicely and she spotted a pair of bright woolen socks. Her eyes shot back up to his face and saw a familiar glimmer in his dark eyes, a brow raised. Clearing her throat, she held a hand out to him. His eyes, which had been staring intently at her own, glanced down at her hand quickly, before resuming eye contact. His eyebrow was pulled ever higher as he shook her hand, once.

"Professor Snape."

"Miss Granger."

"Miney, please," she blushed. "Hermione, I mean."

"Only if you return the favour," he challenged, though a red tint appeared on his cheeks which let her know he remembered his previous slip-up. He still hadn't let go of her hand.

"Severus."

He closed his eyes and offered her a small smile and a final, raking look before dropping her hand and moving on to greet Neville beside her.

Strangely, she felt bereft as he walked away, and jealous of the quick and fierce camaraderie he had with Longbottom. Snape clapped him on the shoulder and announcing that "we men are outnumbered here, you should come join our poker night with Filius", which earned a bark from Madam Pomfrey until he chuckled and added "and Poppy".

Hermione stared, mouth agape, at his easy nature. Eventually she caught Minerva's eye and hurried to her seat before she could answer that questioning expression. She barely knew what to make of her emotions herself, never mind explaining them to a third party. All she knew was she was so glad she'd worn trousers this time, and she wondered how long it would be until he returned her bobble.

It wasn't until later while settling in to her room she realised he hadn't spoken to Ron.


	2. Chapter 2

Hermione relaxed in to her armchair, looking around her new room. To stave away the chill she knew would come in the winter months, she'd placed a large yellow rug in the centre of the room, and lined the stone walls with organised bookcases, dotted with photograph frames and house plants. The mantel had been painted a deep teal and a fire cracked merrily in the hearth. The furniture was grey with the occasional coloured scatter cushion. Ron was lounged on her sofa, one leg hanging off the side and tapping a restless beat against the floor. Neville was seated in her amethyst wing-back chair, eyes scanning her noticeboard with a knowing smile. The first thing she'd done when moving in to the castle was to install a decidedly muggle corkboard on the wall next to the door to her new classroom. On it, she'd pinned various lesson plans and a colour-coded to-do list. Behind her, she knew, her desk was a crisp white to contrast with the jewel tones of the living area, and was bare save for a golden quill holder in the shape of an otter, a pot of yellow and white calla lilies, and a gold framed photograph of her parents. The doors to the bathroom and her plush bedroom were behind that. She was happy with the zoning in her rooms, though happiest with the fact she decorated it all herself, as Minerva had banned the use of House Elves for personal reasons by Hogwarts staff. 

Taking a sip of her wine, Hermione adjusted the cushion behind her back and curled her legs beneath her. She smiled across at Neville.

"More wine?"

He raised his glass at her as she levitated the bottle over to him.

"Cheers, 'Mione. I see you've settled in to life at Hogwarts." He gestured over to her noticeboard. "First lesson on Boggarts I see."

Ron snorted, but she ignored him.

"Lupin was the only decent Defence teacher we had in our time, I thought it right I work in his memory where I can." Neville smiled again and toasted to Remus.

"You'd better avoid observing that lesson, Nev," Ron scoffed, "you're never going to live it down if the students find out you're scared of Snape."

"I'd like to think I've changed enough in the last ten years for him to not be my boggart anymore." Neville chuckled. "Besides, I don't think it's possible to be frightened of him anymore, did you see him earlier? I can't wait to take him up on that poker offer."

"You can't be serious," Ron spluttered, "you actually want to spend _time_ with that bastard?"

"He didn't seem much like a bastard tonight, you're just jealous he invited me and didn't even look at you."

"Good! I'd have to shower immediately if he ever so much as shook my hand."

"Honestly, Ronald," Hermione sighed, "what is your problem with Snape? You do realise you agreed to work with him?"

"I did not," Ron mumbled, taking a large gulp of wine, "I agreed to teach Quidditch. I thought the reason you got the Defence job was because he was finally leaving this place well enough alone. Anyway, I don't see why you two are so keen to be chummy with him, do you not remember what a git he was?"

Hermione stared at her wine, remembering a pointed sneer as he mocked her teeth, the look on his face when he determined to ignore her in lessons, the soft strokes of his thumb as they worked together to save him.

"Was," she whispered. "He _was_ a git."

Neville studied Ron over the rim of his wine glass. "I've been meaning to ask, mate," he said slowly, "why did you agree to teach? I know I've always wanted to teach Herbology, and Hermione has been pretty clear she wanted out of the Ministry, but last I heard from you you were packing to go to Europe with the Cannons. What happened?"

Ron picked nervously at the badge on his Chudley Cannons shirt, looking at everything and nothing.

"Nothing happened. Nothing." He pointed a finger at Neville. "And if that Prophet prints anything don't trust that drivel. I just wanted to give back to the kids, you know?"

Neville raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. There was a long pause before Neville sighed and stood.

"Well, 'Mione, looks like that's all we're going to get out of him tonight. Come on then, Ron, our offices are both downstairs. We'd better run if we want a good night's sleep before the kids start tomorrow. Night, Hermione, thanks for the wine."

He bent down to place a quick peck on the top of her head and held the door open for Ron. The redhead slowly got to his feet and moved in front of Hermione.

"Come for a walk with me after breakfast? We've got a lot of lost time to make up for."

"Alright, Ron," she accepted, "but it better be quick, I promised Gin I'd floo her before term starts." 

Hermione resisted rolling her eyes as he kissed her cheek, only brushing him away when she felt him linger a little too long near the corner of her mouth. Lost time, indeed, she thought. There was a reason they had never worked together, and she knew it had to do with why he was no longer with the Cannons. Maybe on this walk she could figure out what had really lead him to a life in the Hogwarts Quidditch huts. 

..... 

Severus let his head drop back on his chair and breathed deeply, eyes closed. The familiar smells of the potions lab drifted through the gap in his office door and he basked in it. Lazily he waved a hand and lit the numerous new lights he'd added to the room in an attempt to brighten the dungeon. He waved again and the turntable in the corner started spinning, Frank Sinatra's croon filling the room with visions of cocktails and dancing under Manhattan lights. He sipped his whisky and thought about inviting his new colleagues down for a drink, but sat up when he realised that would involve her. In his rooms. Not to mention that Weasley brat. 

Suspicion was radiating off that boy; the senses he'd developed through years of spying were telling him to be wary. He could not fathom a single reason why the boy should be in Hogwarts, of all places, when rumour had it he was set to be married to one of his Cannon teammates. How was it that the boy was here, flaunting his hideous orange strip, instead of in Europe with the team he clearly longed to be a part of? 

For the first time that night, Severus allowed his mind to wander to the years he'd spent teaching the Gryffindors who were now his colleagues. The Weasley hadn't changed, though Longbottom had grown in to a fine young man with a quick and ready wit and, he feared, a brilliant poker face. The girl, however, was an enigma. He had four strong memories of the Gryffindor Princess, so he drew on them to see if he could begin to crack her code. 

First, he thought of the year Lucius fucked up by giving a part of Voldemort's soul to a besotted Weasley brat. He remembered being in the Hospital Wing, discussing cures for petrification with Pomfrey and Sprout when a student had rushed in and told them that Hermione lay petrified in the Castle. He remembered levitating her to a hospital bed, catching a glimpse of a scrunched up note in her hand. The arrogant girl had been trying to save the day again, and it had resulted in her almost losing her life. He was angry with her then, and vowed to do everything in his power to knock some sense in her, to try and bring her confidence down to a level where she acted with her head and not her rash heart. He took a sip of his whisky in pause, unsure whether that private vow had lead to some disgraceful behaviour on his part, and if it had irreparably damaged her opinion of him. 

Second, he thought of her on that night. Her frantic whispers and pleading as he lay in his own blood and the smell of her hair as she bent over him. She displayed the same arrogance then, the same temper and refusal to accept something was beyond her control. And she'd saved him. She had been skin and bones yet all she'd cared about was her greasy, duplicitous Potions professor. 

Third, he thought of her as she'd been seven years ago. Looking back now, it was hard to believe that was only a few months after the night in the Shack. She had been staying with the Weasleys and had gained a healthy amount of weight. Her arrogance, however, had not changed. 

He remembered sitting on that godforsaken chair in the Wizengamot chamber, chains loose around him but acting as a constant reminder that one wrong word could have him incarcerated. The Weasley boy, his new colleague, was grinning evilly at him from the front row. There were two empty seats beside him. He remembered seeing looks of pity, curiosity, and thinly veiled hatred from the members of the Wizengamot. There had been a lively chatter in the hall, until the door clanged shut and Potter walked in, Granger in hand. 

Potter had lost that sense of naivety since the war, and he seemed to carry a cool air of confidence and intuition rarely seen in one so young. Snape remembered the press of Potter's hand on his shoulder as he walked passed to take his seat. The boy had smiled warmly at him and tweaked his tie. Silver and green. Clearly, he had learned some lessons in diplomacy and was keen to demonstrate the new vision of House Unity which he was trying to implement in the Auror Force. There had been whispers of immaturity when Robards hired him as Deputy Head Auror, but his performance at Snape's trial that day put an end to them. Really, Severus was fiercely proud of him and looked forward to their monthly catch-ups, however secret they tried to keep them. Old animosities died hard, it seemed, and even after seven years neither would publicly be seen with the other. It was too strange, too complicated a history. 

Where Potter had been the picture of calm and grace, Granger had been fire and fury. She had marched in to the courtroom, heels clipping and demanding attention. She'd somehow managed to tame that godforsaken mane and it was brushed elegantly over one shoulder, framing her face and the deep burgundy of her lipstick. A deep emerald satin shirt poked in to a tight black pencil skirt. He remembered his heart stopping as she walked by him. The skirt curved over her arse and his fingers twitched with the sudden urge to run his hands over it. He'd never felt more disgusted with himself. 

Throughout the trial, Hermione had studiously avoided looking at him. Her hair seemed to bristle as she raged about how pointless the day was. It seemed she had taken it on herself to act as his lawyer and she defended his virtue and honour like it was her own. All the while he stared at her, willing her to look at him and show some sign that she remembered him, that he hadn't imagined her being in the Shack that night. 

Severus knocked back his whisky, shame prickling his skin as he remembered how desperate he had been for her. That feeling had lead to seven years of him refusing to be anywhere near her, hiding in Hogwarts where he was safe from the glares and opinions of the outside world. He hadn't forgotten the Prophet campaign which had run following his release and demanded his immediate retrial - spearheaded by one Ronald Weasley. He still had copies of those newspapers in a locked box in his desk. On the nights he felt himself slipping back in to the despair and helplessness he'd endured during those years as a spy, he'd pull them out and flick to the 'Letters to the Editor' pages, where complete strangers wrote passages of support for him and begged the Prophet to stop printing such drivel. These unknown supporters fuelled his transformation in to the man he had always wanted to be, and helped him form real and true relationships. He thought about Anna Goldie, the new barkeep of the Hog's Head, and their failed attempt at dating. They had tried to be together three years ago, and had had numerous nights of mind-blowing passion, but he was still clawing his way out of the fog of depression he'd found himself in during the war. Perhaps now he was happy and knew his coping mechanisms they could give it another go. 

Settling back in his seat and running his hand over his face, Severus thought of his final prominent memory of Hermione. Just that night, in Minerva's office. That satin shirt was back, but she'd worn it loose over a pair of leggings and chelsea boots. He remembered how she'd raked him over with a piercing look, shock written clear on her face. There was no indication of pleasure in seeing him again. Rather the opposite. When she'd stumbled and reminded him of how he'd pronounced her name embarrassment flooded over him. It was the first indication in seven years that she shared memories of that night. He growled, anger burning in the pit of his stomach. She'd saved him, but wanted no contact. He was now confined to a punishment of living in proximity with a witch who wanted nothing to do with him, but who he had... Inconvenient and complicated feelings for. He gripped his whisky tumbler until the engravings started to etch into his skin, remembering an exchange from the Shack. 

"We're alive."

"Why?"

That question had been so loaded, and even he wasn't sure what he meant, so he wasn't surprised she hadn't answered. But over the years he'd found himself staring out of the window, pleading at the owls during the morning post in the Great Hall to bring him an explanation from her. Why had she saved him? Why was he alive when his actions killed so many? The glass shattered in his hand. He stared at the blood dripping from his porcelain skin. He made a vow.

This year, he would get his answers. 


	3. Chapter 3

The Great Hall was holding its breath. The long tables down the centre of the room were bare, the candles unlit. Up and down the walls portraits ran between one another, adjusting collars and reapplying makeup. Two pompous looking men in opposite portraits were practicing new poses, signalling improvements to each other. Every so often a House Elf would appear, readjust a curtain or a candle, then leave with a pop.

Severus poured himself another coffee, enjoying the stillness. This would be his last chance to enjoy the solitude of the Great Hall before the students descended later that afternoon. He leant back in his chair, legs extended, hand tapping a rhythm on the table and enjoying the echo. He started humming the riff to Feeling Good, enjoying the sunrise in the ceiling. A gruff voice chuckled behind him.

"Bublé, Snivellus, really?"

Snape chose to ignore the jibe. Leaning forward, he dipped his croissant in his coffee and turned to Ron.

"Nina Simone, you uncultured wretch." he cocked an eyebrow. "How do you know who Bublé is, anyway? I thought it was all Celestina Warbeck with you Weasleys."

Ron smirked. "Hermione has very... Specific Christmas tastes. A lot of Bublé, a lot of mulled wine, a lot of dancing." His eyes glinted. "The right kind of dancing, if you get my gist."

Severus' eyes narrowed. Weasley grinned back at him, before ladelling his plate with bacon. Just then, Hermione walked in. She paused, looking between the two men, and very obviously chose the seat exactly between them.

"Good morning," she chimed to nobody in particular, grabbing some granola and a black coffee.

"Mornin' 'Mione," Ron said around a bite of his bacon butty, "you all ready for our date later?"

Severus had been getting ready to leave, but feigned interest in a further cup of coffee. Out of the corner of his eye he watched Granger formulate a response.

"I'm ready for our walk, but Ginny's busy with Albus this afternoon so I promised I'd floo her at 9."

"But that's only two hours away!" Ron stared at her. "Surely that little ass won't mind if you flooed later?"

Severus snorted. "How charming calling your own sister an ass."

"I'm talking about my nephew. Sodding Albus Severus thanks to you." The glare on the weasel's face was almost comical. "And I'd thank you to butt out of this private conversation. Our date is of no concern to you. Right, Hermione?"

"Ronald, it's just a walk." Hermione sighed, clearly vexed. "There are no romantic connotations. We'll just walk around the lake, pass the time of day, and head back to our prior engagements." She pointed at him with her spoon. "Need I remind you the students start today and you still haven't planned a single lesson."

Severus chuckled and stood. "She's got you there Weasley. If we were able to deduct points from teachers I'd knock off fifty right now for woeful inadequacy. I shall see you both at the Sorting, good day lovebirds."

Hermione spluttered at the epithet, waving her hands around frantically in an attempt to correct him. Severus chuckled again at Ron's face. Yes, something had definitely happened between those two members of the golden trio, and he knew just who to call to find out more.

Hours later, Snape was kneeling on a cushion in front of his fire, Harry Potter's head floating in the green flames.

"So Sev, how are things with your new colleagues?"

Severus tutted. "Next question." He paused when Harry looked momentarily worried. "Why do you ask?"

"It's just..." Harry looked around uncomfortably and Snape could tell he was rubbing the back of his neck. He always did have too many giveaways. "It's just Ginny was saying that Hermione seemed really upset when she called earlier."

"That's odd, she was her normal swotty self this morning."

"Ah, so you have been spending time with her." Harry's lip quirked up. "How's that going?"

"Clearly not well enough for her to tell me what's grieving her. Come, Potter, spill."

"Thing is, I'm not totally sure. Gin didn't tell me. I don't think 'Mione wanted me to worry about her or something."

"And that's worked so well."

Harry chuckled lowly then sighed. "Look, I still don't know the whole story, but I think something happened between her and Ron before he left the Cannons. From what I gather they went on a walk this morning and he must have said something that upset her. I hate not knowing what's going on between them, Sev, they're my best mates and neither of them tells me the truth."

"Weasley hasn't said anything to you?"

Harry shook his head. "Every time I try to talk to him about his personal life he changes the subject. Last time he just up and left."

He paused and bit his lip, tilting his head and looking at Snape out of the corner of his eyes. Snape's eyes narrowed.

"Potter," he drawled, "where are you going with this? Come on I know that look, what do you want?"

Harry laughed nervously and suddenly he was that sixteen year old boy again shuffling in front of his Potions professor asking for more Occlumency lessons. Severus raised an eyebrow slowly and waited.

"See, Sev, I was thinking, well... " Harry's head turned to the side and looked around before he leant forward and started to whisper.

"Look, Ginny doesn't agree with me here, she doesn't think it's a good idea, but could you keep an eye on them? Make sure they're not alone together, that kind of thing." He paused. "We'd both appreciate it if you could figure out exactly what Ron's done. We feel like we don't know our brother anymore."

Snape sighed, he had been so ready to say no until that last sentence.

"You want me to spy on them?"

"Keep an eye on them," Harry shrugged.

"Why can't Longbottom do it?" Harry let out a belly laugh at that.

"Seriously? Neville wouldn't touch this plan with a ten-foot pole, he's got too many morals apparently," Harry elaborated, rolling his eyes.

"You've already asked him? Am I second choice spy, then?" For a reason Snape refused to accept, that idea boiled his blood.

"God, no, he'd kill me before I finished the question. He's too good these days, since killing that snake with the sword he's really taken on the mantle of Gryffindor Hero. Did you know he and Hannah are opening a new wing at St Mungo's? He's honest to god called it St Neville's. Something about kids, I think." Harry screwed up his face as Snape fell over laughing.

"Oh that's too precious. So you want me to make sure the Gryffindor duo never spend time alone, which will require actual stalking on my part, plus you want me to spy on the Weasel? Fine, Potter, but before I accept, let me ask one thing. What's in it for me?"

Harry pulled a face Snape was sure came outof his own arsenal.

"Isn't it obvious?"

.....

Hermione tugged at the clasp on her robes, trying to fit it in to position. She swept her hair over one shoulder, then the other, then both. Her hand reached up to adjust her lipstick and -

"Will you stop that," her neighbour hissed, "you look fine."

"But -"

"Stop."

Snape reached across her, side pressed up to her as he grasped the jug of pumpkin juice. A soft scent of sandalwood floated around her. She became suddenly aware of her breath and the pace of her heart. He was so close. His hair was so close, so much shorter than she remembered. A distant memory of tying long hair with a bobble drifted in to her mind and clouded all other thoughts.

"Drink", he ordered, handing her a glass.

As she took it from him, she noticed a thin, raggedy bobble around his wrist. She yelped and almost dropped the glass.

"Breathe, Professor," he whispered, running a thumb across her hand without thinking as he ensured she had a firm grasp of the glass.

Once satisfied, he started to pour himself a glass of wine from the jug on the table. He leant away from her and she breathed a sigh of relief. Pulling her senses together she finally looked at their drinks.

"Pumpkin juice?" She huffed. "I am an adult, Professor."

"The last thing we want is for you to be anxious and drunk," he drawled.

"I hardly think one glass -" she stopped when Snape held up a hand to her and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Professor Granger. You have done nothing but fidget since you sat down. The students won't arrive for another forty-five minutes, and even then it will be at least an hour until the Sorting is finished and we can finally eat, possibly more if Minerva blabbers on. It will not do to have the students' first impression of you be that you are a drunken fool."

Hermione turned to face him, narrowing her eyes.

"Are you suggesting I can't handle my alcohol?" she said indignantly.

Snape shrugged and took another sip of wine. There was the ghost of a challenge in his deep eyes. Well, then. The corner of Hermiones mouth quirked up and she, ever so slowly, took the glass out of his hand and finished it, never breaking eye contact. She noticed his eyes widen fractionally and his lips part. His gaze dropped to her lips and she watched as he gulped, Adam's apple bouncing. She bit the bottom corner of her lip and placed the glass back on its coaster in front of him.

"I'm sure I'll be fine," she said. She noticed that she no longer felt nervous about the feast, but her stomach seemed to have pulled tighter with nerves. He was still staring at her.

"Quite," he murmured.

Looking away, he waved his wand and a basket of warm French bread and dishes of butter and sea salt appeared.

"Help yourself, Professor," he said while doing just that. Hermione laughed.

"At least an hour till we can eat, huh?"

"I won't tell if you won't. I don't know if you've noticed yet but we are the only people in here." Snape took a bite of his bread and winked at her. Her eyes widened again.

Alone.

With him.

Oh.

She couldn't understand why that thought scared her. With shaking hands, she reached for a bit of bread, buttered it, and sprinkled flakes of salt over it. The warmth flooded through her as she took a bite and calmed her a little, the salt grounding her. But she still felt anxious. She looked around the Hall for something to do, and her eyes landed on the spot where she had seen Fred's body. Her would-be brother-in-law. Bile rose to her throat. Her eyes stopped blinking. She could see his body, could hear Molly's screams and Ron's howl. A choking pant echoed in her mind and she felt some atmospheric pressure squeezing at her chest. She tried to breathe some air in and expand her chest, but nothing happened. Frightened, she clawed at her throat, tears she was powerless to stop streaming down her face. She felt rather than saw somebody lean an arm around her and stroke the back of her hand with their thumb. "

Breathe, breathe. In. Out." Instructions, yes, she knew how to follow instructions, she was good at that.

"That's it, you're doing well. In. Hold it, I haven't given you permission to exhale yet, Miss Granger. Alright, out now. Good, good."

She blinked, seeking out the source of the calming voice. Turning her head slowly, she saw Snape pressed against her, a look of concern and understanding written deep in to the lines of his face. His mouth smiled, but his brows were furrowed together in a position she remembered from her third year when he thought Lupin was going to kill them. She kept breathing.

In.

Out.

Eventually she felt calm enough to smile back at him and his face relaxed, though he didn't move away from her.

"You're safe, Hermione," he said softly, "the war's over. Nobody is going to hurt you. It's over."

She nodded. "How often do you need to tell yourself that?"

He paused. "Often. But it gets easier." She could tell he wanted to go on, so waited. "It's just... I never thought I'd live through the war," he started, glancing at her quickly, "but I'm glad I did. Yes, life's been hell, but Minerva gave me purpose. I can drink, now, for the first time in years, but I won't drown. The ghosts are here. The screams. The memories. The pain. But there is life here, still. You'll see. Those kids you'll meet today, they, " he sighed and dragged his fingers through his hair, "this is the first year when not a single student at hogwarts will have been here during the war. This is different. This is.... New." he studied her. "it's over."

She nodded, unsure what more she could possibly add, and turned for her glass of wine. He stayed in position for a while, tense, then rubbed her back firmly, patted her, and turned back to his own wine. They sat in companiable silence for a while, as Hermione wondered how her life had come to this.

She heard the astronomy Tower clock chime in the distance, signalling the students would arrive in half an hour. Her students. When had she ever thought that would be a sentence she'd say? Her, a Professor? It had never been a career she'd considered; she'd even balked at Harry's suggestion she taught Dumbledore's Army instead of him. But then she'd entered the Ministry and faced no competition to her regime. Nobody had dared question the logic or intellect of the Gryffindor Princess, Horcrux Huntress, Potter Pal, or whichever ludicrous epithet they came up with. She missed the thrill of being challenged, of people not listening to her, of being questioned, and that was why she'd accepted McGonnagal's offer to teach a subject she had long left behind. So that was why she was here, but why was he so different?

She couldn't figure him out. One minute was drawing greasily and sneering, the next he was coaxing her out of a panic attack with more comfort than she'd ever experienced than from even Molly Weasley. And why did she find him so heart-stoppingly attractive? So attractive she was apparently making up words now? He was an enigma, a puzzle.... A challenge.

The clock chimed and Snape jerked up, snatching the wine jug and splashing some more into their glasses.

"Drink," he urged. "Now."

He knocked the wine back then forced her glass in to her hand.

"Now."

She raised an eyebrow, and maintained eye contact with him as she slowly swallowed her wine. She noticed his eyes flick down to her lips, her throat, and lower still, before shook his head and waved his wand over the bread, disappearing it. The door behind them crashed open as the rest of the professors walked in and he leant close to her.

"No signs that we've been drinking or are tipsy or anything" he whispered, "not one."

She nodded conspiratorially at him then bit back a giggle. He sighed, leaning back.

"Fucking hell, woman," he groaned quietly, then "Trelawney! Come sit with us!"

Hermione exhaled angrily, which seemed to amuse Severus, before she plastered a large smile on her face. Snape raised an eyebrow at her then waved at the Divination professor, pointing out the seat on Hermione's other side. He turned back to the table when Ron walked in, but Hermione saw him watching the redhead out of the corner of his eye, noticing that he only relaxed when Ron took his place next to Neville on McGonnagal's other side. Neville waved over at her, but Ron ignored her. She scoffed. Severus glanced at her, then Weasley, then back to her, raising an eyebrow.

"Trouble in paradise?"

"There never was a paradise. Not with him."

Snape seemed to sense she had more to say but didn't want to around company and he leant over to her as McGonnagal signalled for Flitwick to bring in the students.

"We're all going to the three broomsticks tonight after curfew. Come to my office before hand? I want to go over your lesson plans before tomorrow. "

Hermione spluttered angrily, her hair crackling. Just as she was about to tear him a new one she heard McGonnagal clear her throat loudly. The matriarch was staring daggers at her and she sank in to her seat, embarrassed. For a while she said nothing, watching as the students bustled in to the hall.

"Fine."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've updated the tags/warnings on this story.  
Just to let you know there will be a future chapter which discusses past sexual abuse. I'll put another note before that chapter so you can skip it if you like. The story still makes sense without that chapter, and there will be references to discussions therein, but it's entirely your own choice whether to read it.

Snape fumed the whole way through the Sorting ceremony. Fucking Potter. He didn't know why he'd invited her up to his office, he definitely didn't want her there, but he'd promised Saint Potter he'd look after his Princess and make sure she was never alone with the Weasel. God knows how he was supposed to keep them apart in the pub, where everyone would be clamouring for photos with the Saviour's accomplices. Even seven years later the obsession the residents of Hogsmeade had with them hadn't died down. And to make matters worse for himself, Severus had panicked and waved over the first professor he saw to occupy the seat on Hermione's other side, and now Sinistra kept raising her eyebrow at him and nodding towards Trelawny in question. How the hell was he going to explain that? His relationship with Sinistra was blooming founded on getting pissed and taking the mick out of the crystal-ball obsessed waif.

He groaned into his glass of wine, noticing Hermione's puzzled glances but paying her no mind. Feigning a stretch, he looked down the table at Weasley and grimaced. The boy was tearing a chicken leg apart with his teeth. He then proceeded to wave it in Longbottom's face as he gestured wildly and talked around his mouthful of unchewable gristle. Snape shuddered and turned back to his wine. Funny how his appetite had suddenly disappeared.

Finally, fucking finally, McGonnagal stood. The Headmistress made some poncy speech about inter-House cooperation, the spirit of sisterhood, and how dangerous the Forbidden Forest is, we really don't need any more troublemakers and would-be-saviours thank you kindly thank you ever so much to you thank you. She then paused and gestured to her staff.

"Now, the beady eyed among you may have noticed a few differences up here. As you know, Professors Sprout and Hooch retired last year and we wish them all the best in their new life." Her eyes sparkled. "I know many of you will miss them, and Professor Sprout has extended a warm welcome and open door to any members of her former House. That is not to say that you can all descend on her during Hogsmeade visits! I am pretty sure Hooch won't be having that."

Snape chuckled as he noticed a few quidditch players ducking in embarrassment, clearly remembering the multiple times they'd been bollocked on the pitch by the former referee.

"You will notice, of course, that Professor Slughorn is no longer with us," McGonnagal continued. "He, too, has decided to retire - for good this time - and we wish him all the best.

"As such, I would like to re-introduce you to Professor Snape, Potions Master."

Snape raised a hand lazily as Slytherin house cheered. He noticed with interest as a few OWL and NEWT students grinned in relief. He hummed. Perhaps Slughorn hadn't been that good of a Potions teacher, after all. He'd have to test their mettle soon and get a better understanding of how prepared they were for his teaching style and their examinations. He turned back to McGonnagal once the cheers died down.

"Professor Snape has happily resumed his previous post of Potions Professor, leaving Professor Hermione Granger to fill his vacant post of Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts."

The Hall erupted in a strange mix of cheers and whispers. Students started pointing and turning wide-eyed to Granger, Longbottom and Weasley in turn. Evidently, they had thought they were here at the invite of the Headmistress and not as permanent fixtures to the school. McGonnagal looked sternly at the students and waited for the hubbub to die down. She didn't have much luck, however, as the second she announced Weasley would be taking over for Professor Hooch, the Hall erupted again. However, this cheer was quite different. Half of the School jumped up singing a rendition of 'Weasley is our King' while the other half glowered and booed loudly. Snape's eyes widened in shock. Clearly, the students knew something about why Ron left the Cannons. But... How did they know when Potter didn't? Snape tugged at the bobble around his wrist. Something didn't add up. McGonnagal raised a hand and glared. Once the students were seated and quiet, she turned to Hufflepuff House.

"My dear badgers, may I present the new Herbology Professor and youngest ever Head of Hufflepuff House, Neville Longbottom!"

Snape laughed loudly as Hermione nearly fell off her seat in shock and Hufflepuff exploded in chants of 'We got Longbottom! We got Longbottom!'

"He never told me that!" Hermione hissed as Snape wiped the tears from his eyes, still chuckling.

"Not such an insufferable know-it-all now, are we, Miss Granger?"

Hermione spent the rest of Minerva's speech openly scowling at him. Once the Headmistress had dismissed the students, Snape snorted and pushed his chair back.

"Coming?" he barked down at Granger, adjusting his robes. She stared open-mouthed at him, waved at the students one last time, and followed him out of the Hall.

Hermione lasted precisely one step into Snape's office before she lost it.

"What a bellend! I'm going to kill him! Saint Neville my arse he's lied to us all and made us think he was being shifty because he was thinking about breaking up with Hannah not becoming fucking head of Huffleshittypuff!" She made a noise halfway between a cry and a groan and pulled at her hair.

Snape sniggered behind her and she whipped around. He was leaning, as casual as you like, against his desk, ankles crossed, wand hand lazily waving at an espresso machine in the corner.

"And you!" she rounded on him, taking pleasure in watching his smirk falter for a second as she pointed a finger in his face. "You bloody well knew didn't you and you kept it from me!"

"Yes, Granger," he drawled and rolled his eyes, "I purposefully kept the fact that Professor Longbottom is now head of - how did you so eloquently put it? - Huffleshittypuff."

"Yes, well," Hermione huffed. "I don't see how he even gets to be head of a house that's all about loyalty when he's a bloody Gryffindor." Snape cocked an eyebrow.

"Why, Miss Granger, I do believe you're jealous."

"No!" Hermione pouted, before realising her voice had become high-pitched. She shuffled her feet abashedly. "No, I just don't understand."

"Ah." Snape nodded slowly, then waved her over an espresso. "Come on, sober up."

Hermione flushed but accepted the small cup, sipping the bitter drink with a smile. She looked up at him sheepishly.

"Sorry for overreacting."

"We all have feelings," he shrugged. "Some of us just hide them better than others."

Hermione opened her mouth to snap at them, but then saw a dark gleam of something she didn't quite understand in his eyes as he watched her. She stubbornly held his eye contact and felt something in her stomach flutter. She looked away, feeling a blush seep up through her body, and took another drink of the espresso. She closed her eyes, savouring the flavour, and when she opened them again she caught him staring at her mouth, lips parted slightly. She shuddered under his gaze and the thickness of the atmosphere in the room.

Snape turned suddenly and picked up a file from his desk.

"Progress reports," he grunted out, not looking at her, "for the OWL and NEWT students. Thought you... I mean... Well I thought it might help."

"Thank you," she whispered, purposefully grazing his fingers as she prised the file from his hands in an attempt to get him to look at her. Something in her was crying out for him, and the shudder that passed through her when he finally did was overwhelming. "It means a lot."

Hermione wasn't sure she knew what 'it' was any more. She watched as Snape took a step towards her and raised a hand. His gaze had softened but there was still that something indescribable in it. He reached up to flatten her hair, messy since her outburst, and bit his lip.

"Hermione, I..."

Snape shook his head and dropped his hand. He turned abruptly and marched away, discarding his robe and picking up a leather jacket. Shrugging it on, he called out "Pub?" then marched out of his office, leaving Hermione gaping open-mouthed at the door. She shrunk the file and tucked it in her pocket, then drained the last of her espresso.

"What the hell just happened?"

......

Snape paced up and down the Entrance Hall, swearing under his breath. He'd made it all the way to the doors of the castle before he remembered that he'd promised to keep Granger and Weasley apart, and he couldn't do that if he didn't know where they were. He glanced towards the dungeons, but there was still no sign of the girl he'd left in his office after he'd tried to, what? Brush her hair? Kiss her? He paused.

"Oh, fuck." T

hat was definitely what he wanted to do. He scrunched his eyes closed and ran a hand over his face as he pictured her wide-eyed gaze, her unleashed temper, her lips pursing around a coffee cup and her neck pulsing as she swallowed the hot liquid. Watching her explode had been interesting, to say the least. The temper she'd had as a petty student was still there, but more fierce than he'd ever thought possible. Her eyes had sparkled with the force of her emotions. When she flushed, it took everything he had not to get lost in those eyes. The flush of her skin. His hands still itched with the desire to tear her collar open and see how low down her chest her embarrassment travelled. Images of her in other positions filled his mind as he thought of ways he could bring that sensual colour out of her.

"Fuck fuck fuck."

"Severus?"

Snape opened his eyes to find Longbottom staring at him, a funny look on his face.

"You alright?" "

Fine," he snapped. "All that chanting and cheering from your fan club earlier gave me a headache, that's all."

Longbottom grinned, and clapped him on the shoulder.

"You'll live. Pub?"

"Pub."

"Great, Trelawney's all set up doing rounds with Hagrid and the Prefects, so God knows how that's going to go. Ron's already headed down to Hogsmeade with McGonnagal, something about them wanting to catch up about Harry I think, Flitwick and Sinistra left before, and - wait," Neville scowled and turned to Snape slowly, an eyebrow raised. "Why is Hermione coming out of the dungeons?"

Snape flushed, and forced himself to shrug. Suddenly the thought of being near her was giving him palpatations, and he clenched and unclenched his fists in an attempt to stop his palms sweating. He waved at Longbottom and mumbled some excuse about enjoying evening walks, and almost ran out of the castle and down the path to Hogsmeade, ignoring the pull in his heart towards deep brown eyes and curved red lips.


	5. Chapter 5

The bell over the door chimed her entrance. A rush of warmth flooded her as she stepped in from the September chill. Despite the overflowing bar and laughter Hermione could make out the crackle of a fire in the grate. She sighed happily. This is what Autumn is supposed to be like: a crisp chill in the air, leaves cracking underfoot and the promise of whisky and fires to warm the bones. It was so different from the grey skies and endless drizzle she'd become accustomed to in London. A glass of firewhiskey floated through the crowd and bumped at her hand until she held it.

"Drink!" Flitwick's voice chirped over the din in the bar, "you're behind!"

Craning her neck around, she found the professors in a large padded booth at the back of the Three Broomsticks, Flitwick perched on three gold cushions and giggling merrily with Sinistra. Hermione felt a hand rest on her waist and someone lean in close behind her.

"You go on ahead," Neville said in to her ear, raising his voice a little to be heard, "I'm going to say hello to Hannah."

Hermione looked in the direction of his gesturing hands, and noticed a perfectly coiffed blonde woman behind the bar. She grinned and looked back at Neville.

"Are you ready for Saturday?"

"As I'll ever be," he smiled, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, "do you think she'll say yes?"

Hermione slowly raised an eyebrow at him but said nothing. Turning, she waved at him over her shoulder as she walked away, leaving him chuckling and shimmying through the crowd towards the beauty behind the bar. Hermione shuffled in to an empty seat at the Professors' table, next to Sinistra, and grinned at the Arithmancy Professor as she was silently handed another firewhiskey.

"Have another, Hermione, heaven knows we all need it after the length of Minnie's speech."

"Hadaway and shite," McGonnagal scoffed, "it was nothing on Albus' old speeches. At least I stopped the hat from singing!"

"Oh I don't know," Flitwick chimed in, "at least the hat would have been more entertaining."

Sinistra cackled as Flitwick vanished his cushions to dip down out of the reach of McGonnagal's slap. Hermione chuckled to herself and sipped the whiskey, closing her eyes and embracing the familiar burn and oak undertones. Perfect.

"Okay, Minnie, truce," Flitwick continued as he waved over another whiskey for the Headmistress. "No matter how much we joke about your speech at least they're always better than Sev - erus hi! Come, sit!"

The women around the table fell about laughing as the colour drained from Flitwick's cheeks towards the end of sentence, his voice escalating in pitch and arms flapping in panic as Snape's lithe body cast a shadow over their table. He grunted and took the only available seat, next to Hermione, and leant back, an arm resting casually along the back of the sofa. Hermione tensed as his fingers inadvertently brushed her shoulder. He didn't seem to notice, just frowned at Flitwick over the rim of his glass.

A companiable silence fell upon the booth, causing Hermione to think Snape often happened upon his colleagues ribbing him. He and the Charms professor seemed to be caught in a staring contest with neither willing to stand down from the challenge. Sinistra and McGonnagal were covering their mouths with their hands, visibly shaking with effort as they tried to refrain from chuckling aloud. Eventually Flitwick hiccoughed and summoned a bottle of whiskey to the table, and the spell was broken. Hermione stared as the Headmistress refilled their glasses, suddenly remembering how much she'd drunk since entering the Great Hall. She reached hesitantly for her glass but didn't sip it. Snape scoffed behind her, and summoned a jug of ice water, silently sliding her a glass. When Hermione looked up to thank him, she noticed his lips were twitching with mirth. She scowled, frown deepening when he patted her lightly on the shoulder and mumbled "lightweight". Finally he looked at her with a smirk and his eyes sparkling with laughter. She stuck out her tongue at him, and felt oddly proud as she saw his jaw drop slightly as she turned away from him and engaged Sinistra in conversation about her research.

Severus gaped, only closing his mouth when he heard McGonnagal clear her throat. He breathed out, slowly, waiting for that most unfortunate reaction his body had had to the sight of her tongue to go down. Who knew he had a kink for tongues. Shakily, he reached for his whisky and looked around the bar for a distraction from the feel of her bushy hair on his fingertips. His eyes narrowed as he heard a familiar guffaw.

"Yes, well, I thought it was best I left. That way the other players could at least have a chance of getting some recognition, you know?"

Snape peered over his shoulder and saw Weasley leaning against the bar, two very attractive women perched on bar stools next to him, their knees bumping his. The boy had his back to the bar, leaning back on his elbows just so. One hand lightly grazed the knees of the blonde woman, while the other lightly dangled his butterbeer and occasionally bumbed the bottle against the other woman's crotch. Snape felt a quiver of unease as he caught the sexual tension around the three of them and the way Weasley was casually touching these strangers as if he'd known them for years.

"But what happened between you and Jasmine?" the blonde simpered.

Snape racked his brain before remembering some snippet of news about an engagement between the Weasley boy and his former Quidditch captain. That must be Jasmine. He watched as Ron straightened up and sipped his beer.

"Call it difference of opinion," Weasley chuckled darkly, "her best friend didn't like me and that was that." He sighed dramatically. "I really thought we had something special, you know? It always happens to me, even after I saved Hermione from Malfoy Manor. I've always been second-best to Harry so when people don't like me it hurts."

He sighed again and looked down, tossing the beer bottle between his hands in some poor imitation of an anxious tick.

"I just want to come first for once."

As Snape watched both women launch themselves at his new colleague and prove that, to them, he did come first apparently, he heard a bark of laughter beside him. Looking back to the table, he saw Hermione staring at Ron and shaking her head.

"You just want to come first? When did you ever come second." She muttered.

Snape choked on his whiskey, catching the double entendre. Hermione cocked an eyebrow at him, but the illusion was shattered by the mirth in her eyes.

"Lightweight," she drawled.

Snape threw his head back and cackled, patting her on the shoulder with the hand he still hadn't moved from the back of the chair.

"The Weasel wasn't quite up to your standard, Granger?"

She shrugged in response, looking at him quizzically.

"The Weasel? You sound like Draco."

"Ugh. Don't ever say that again. My godson still hasn't quite lost that pretentious air about him, has he?"

"Not quite, though I'm sure Astoria will knock it out of him soon enough."

"Indeed. Her or that insufferable brat of his."

Hermione smirked, "now you sound like Ron."

Snape stared at her. "You take that back."

There was a pause as they watched each other, both trying their best not to watch the two women fawning all over said colleague. Snape cleared his throat. Now was as good a time as any, he supposed.

"Professor Granger," he started.

"Hermione."

"Hermione. If you don't mind me asking, what happened between the two of you? You don't exactly seem the happy family I remember."

"Is it that obvious?" Hermione looked away finally, swirling her drink.

There was a long silence, though not an uncomfortable one. Snape sensed she wanted to talk and waited for an answer as he watched the whole answer playing out in the expressions she was trying so hard to stop her face from expressing. He was going to kill him. Eventually, Hermione sighed.

"You remember... No..." she ran her fingers through her hair. "That night. The night you... I... The night Harry won. You were dying so I doubt you heard anything, but Ron really didn't want me to stay with you. He was so mad when I finally caught up with them later on. Said I'd betrayed them both by shacking up with the enemy." She chuckled darkly. "He was really proud of that one. Shacking up, I mean. Because we'd been in the, well, you know. He'd apparently convinced himself that we were supposed to spend every second together, even though he'd left us for weeks, and was furious that I'd put your life over his. Not that I had, you know? I mean you were dying and he was just a snarky git."

She paused again. Snape just stared, overwhelmed with the urge to snap the bobble on his wrist but unsure how to do it without drawing attention to himself; his arm was still resting behind her shoulders. She continued.

"After the battle, Ron lost it. I understand, I do, our emotions were so high and we'd thought Harry had died and that he'd left us without saying goodbye - neither of us have ever forgiven him for that you know? - so I get why Ron was all over the place. But I still don't think I'd done anything wrong. He blamed it all on me. Said if I'd only stayed with the pair of them the whole time and not let Harry run away from you he wouldn't have gone to kill himself. That if I'd left the shack with him, with Ron I mean, then he would have proposed to me and we'd be married now with kids and I wouldn't need to work at all, that I could be home reading all day with all our beautiful babies because he'd be off with the Cannons making enough money for us to live on."

Snape barked out a laugh and Hermione jumped, clearly having forgotten he was there.

"He thought that's a life you'd want, did he?" Snape drawled, watching her eyes widen. "The brightest witch of her age becoming the new Molly Weasley?"

"Molly Weasley's pretty bright, you know." Hermione said meekly, rubbing her wrist with her thumb. Snape caught the action and stared at her wrist, a clouded memory forming in his mind.

"Perhaps," he whispered, "but she's not you." He looked up and allowed himself to get lost in her doe eyes.

"Don't ever lose who you are, 'Miney."

Hermione melted before him, a shaky smile playing at her lips. It was beautiful. She was beautiful. He smiled softly back at her and felt himself leaning forward. He was starting to kid himself when -

"Hang on," Hermione snapped, eyes burning as she leant around him to glare at Weasley.

"Did he say he saved me from Malfoy Manor?"


	6. Chapter 6

"I'm going to kill him. I'm actually going to kill him. How dare he take the credit for what Dobby did that microdick owning cu-"

"Professor Granger!"

Hermione froze. Her palms hurt and, looking down, she saw that she'd clenched both fists so tight her fingernails were digging in to her skin. At some point she must have jumped up, as her glass was toppled and spilt all over the tabletop, amber whiskey dripping on to her shoes. Her hair was crackling and her body vibrating with rage and hurt and betrayal and -

"Really, Professor, I must insist. Now I don't care what that boy has done but I insist you sit down at once."

Hermione pushed smoke through her nose, grinding her teeth. Her eyes flashed as Weasley's attention was drawn to her reaction and he sidled over to her.

"Wotcher, 'Mione, what's got your knickers in a twist?" he laughed, clapping her on a shoulder.

"Don't you touch me you insufferable, unbearable worm!" she heard herself shriek. McGonnagal exhaled sharply behind her.

"Need I remind you, Professor, you are still on probation. No violence, or I shall be forced to reconsider your position."

"Violence?" Ron laughed, "Why would there be violence?" He exaggerated a smile, clearly still performing for the girls he'd left at the bar. "I'm sure my Hermione just wants to thank me for always being there for her. Come on, 'Mione, give me a hug."

He stepped towards her and she raised a fist.

"You -"

"No violence," Snape mumbled beside her.

She paused.

"You're not worth it, Ronald. Get out of my way."

She forced her way past him, but Snape noticed that as she walked away her wrist was conducting a symphony of movements. As she pulled the door to the pub open a great whoosh of cold air filled the bar and Ron lurched forward, legs tangled in a complicated jinx, bats dangling from his nose singing in a voice eerily similar to Harry Potter's about how useless of a friend the Weasel was. Snape watched in astonishment as his new colleague wept and cursed, before collapsing and crawling to the door. The idiot seemed to have forgotten how to reverse hexes, but old habits die hard, and Snape watched the Gryffindor slither away in disgrace, a sense of pride stronger than he'd ever felt washing over him.

"Well," Minerva harrumphed. "Welcome to life with our new colleagues."

"At least she wasn't violent," Sinistra shrugged, her eyes glittering and laughing. She looked to Flitwick to share in the joke, but he just stared at the door, mouth open. "Earth to Filius."

"How did she do that? How? They weren't singing in her voice! Is that even possible? What's the theory?"

Snape sighed as Flitwick continued. The Charms professor wasn't paying attention to anybody else. It was time to go. Nodding to his colleagues, he wrapped his scarf around his neck and headed to the door, a frown on his face and a worry in his heart.

He had wanted to kill him. He had wanted to kiss her. Badly. And she hadn't noticed. Was she that disgusted by the idea of him she wouldn't even entertain the thought? Wouldn't pick up on his signals? Was he that repulsive? Of course, he knew the answer. He was her old professor, the great bat of the dungeon, the greasy git. He had tormented her for years, made fun of her teeth as a young girl just because he could. Not because he believed what he was saying or that he was acting as a spy or because he was fed up with her intelligence, but because he was hungover and she wouldn't stop talking. Honestly, he was surprised she could even stand to be near him. Sighing, he trudged his way up to the school, willing memories of her arrogance as a girl - a girl! Young enough to be his daughter! - to overwhelm the growing burning in his core. He needed her to go away. He needed her to be different. He needed her.

Hermione watched as the pages fell around her. She listened to the crunch underfoot as her stilettos marched over her smashed wineglasses. She felt her nipples harden as the cold hit them, the satin of her dress gliding down her hips. She tossed her head and pulled the scrunchie out of her hair. Holding a hand out, she waved her wand to repair a glass and fill it with red wine, staring at herself in the mirror as she took a long, luxurious drag. Leaning back, she fell on to her bed, kicking off her heels. The pages of books thrown against a wall in a fit of rage were still falling, the last remnants of her anger drifting like leaves to the ground.

She studied her expression in the mirror. Her lips were softened and stained with an intoxicating mix of wine and whiskey. At some point over the evening her make up had smudged, giving her eyes a smoky frame. Those same eyes glistened back at her as she watched her lips purse around the rim of the glass, watched her throat contract as she swallowed the warm liquid. Is that what he had seen? Her legs widened without her knowing. All thoughts of Ron had left her. Ginger hair became short and dark, eyes became more intense and scrutinising, the exaggerated smile became a secret and practiced smirk. She felt a warmth pool within her and she shivered, sinking in to her pillows. She knew it was late. That she had classes in the morning. That she'd only been a Professor for one day and had already risked her position and the respect of her boss. She knew that she hated Ron. Hated him. Her hatred coursed through her blood, increasing with every misplaced smile and comment he produced. She wanted him gone. She needed him gone. She wanted and needed him. Her fingertips ghosted over her neck, tracing the gulp of wine. They followed its warmth down her throat, down her chest, down her stomach to where it pooled between her legs. She needed him. She twirled her hairs in her fingers as she sipped the wine again. She knew she should stop. Knew she should sleep. Oh, but she'd sleep.

Quickly, so as not to interrupt her ministrations for long, she set an alarm on her wand, and resumed the position, thoughts of him clouding her mind and ensnaring her senses. This was wrong. She was angry, she shouldn't be enjoying this. Her breath hitched. The image of Ron at her feet, begging her for relief from her hex was brought to mind. She held it there, drifting her hand further down. Oh, the things she could do to him. The things he would let her do in the name of forgiveness. As she caressed her lips, she thought of the way his lips curl around her name in his pureblood accent, the way he chews it out around a chicken leg at the Gryffindor table. She imagined what it would feel like having his head in her hands as she pushes her lips against his, feeling herself being stretched open by the shape of her name. She wondered how hard she could pull his hair.

"No violence," a voice drawled in her mind.

She shuddered. Revulsion at herself for getting turned on by thoughts of getting revenge on Ron through sex rushed through her. But still she didn't stop. She pushed her finger inside. Softly.

No violence.

Would he be soft? An eyebrow cocked. A smirk. A second finger. A third. She moaned and arched her back as she picked up speed, finally putting down her wine glass so she could lavish attention on her aching nipples. No. He wouldn't be soft. He would torment her, edge her, help her learn her limits, cravings, desires. Soft fingertips on her shoulder, a chuckled lightweight. She moved her hand across her chest to her other breast, grazing the inside of her wrist with her pert nipple once, twice.

She screamed.

Snape spun the bobble around his wrist. He pulled it, snapped it, twisted it tighter and tighter and tighter until his hand started turning blue. Then he released it and restarted the cycle. Bugger it. Bugger it all to hell.

It hadn't even been a week since he'd promised he'd keep the Gryffindors apart and keep an eye on the Weasel boy, yet he'd slunk back to his rooms as soon as he could. Weasley and Granger still hadn't come down for breakfast. Pouring himself another cup of coffee, he glanced down the staff table.

Everybody looked as hungover as he did, thank fuck. Perhaps that explained where the Potter Pals were. Hiding. Licking their wounds. Embarrassed. He thought of Ron's pitiful crawl to the door and the look of violent rage on Hermione's face. If he were honest, both were images he'd rather forget. He hummed.

What was it that had made the Gryffindor Princess so mad? Surely it can't have just been the boy's claim he'd saved her life. Heaven knows the Daily Prophet has spun that tale and countless other theories over the years. Other snippets of Ron's bragging floated through his mind: give the others a chance, coming first, second-best, his fiancée's best friend not liking him and breaking up their relationship.

He bolted up.

Oh shit.

"Oh my god. Hermione. If you don't stop that bloody tapping I swear to god I'm going to show you my version of a bat bogey hex. And they won't be singing."

"Sorry." Hermione shuffled at her desk, putting down the muggle biro she'd been tapping against the surface while struggling to make class notes. The shame of her actions the night before battled its way to the forefront of her mind for the millionth time that day. She looked up at her guest. "From what I remember, anyway, your bats were about as intimidating as a garden gnome. The muggle kind."

"Ah, now, see, that's what you remember. Ginny thought my attempt was so embarrassing she wouldn't go down on me till I improved."

"Woah woah woah woah woah. WHAT? You and Ginny?" Hermione spluttered, jumping to her feet. "When? How?"

Neville lifted his head up from where he was resting it against the armrest of the sofa he was sprawled over and raised an eyebrow at her.

"Now Hermione, when a mummy and a daddy love each other very much-"

"Yes, yes," she waved him off. "You know that's not what I meant. I mean, no offence,"

"None taken."

"But you and Ginny? Harry's Ginny? How?"

"Seventh year," Neville shrugged, "her sixth. Harry was away, I thought Hannah was dead and," he shrugged again, "what can I say, Harry's a lucky guy."

Hermione blinked at him. "You're serious."

"As Dumbledore's grave."

"You said she wouldn't go down on you..." Hermione started slowly, "how long was this going on for?"

Neville shrugged again. That was starting to get annoying. He swung his legs over the side of the sofa and sat up.

"Not sure, really. It was adrenaline, mostly. Kisses after managing not to get caught in the corridors. It turned in to more than kisses pretty early on though." He chewed on his thumbnail. "Hannah knows, but I never told Ron or Harry... We..."

He looked to Hermione with nervous trepidation until she gestured for him to continue. He sighed.

"Yeah, it was... Fun. The not getting caught stuff. It just didn't feel real that we could still steal happy moments, you know? And she's so fucking feisty. Shit, I sound gone for her don't I? Never mind, I guess I was, really. I knew it was forbidden and an awful little idea." He stared at Hermione with a glint in his eyes. "The sex was fucking fantastic. Like mind-blowing. I don't know how to explain it, but come on, have you ever wanted someone you knew was bad for you? Wank material for life."

Hermione felt a blush seep through her soul. She knew exactly what he meant.

"And Ron and Harry don't know?"

"Not as far as I know," Neville looked shifty for the first time, "we could never decide which one of us should break the news."

"Hmm."

"You know what," Neville started, tilting his head to the side. "You could tell them. I'm pretty sure Ron never wants to be on your side again after last night." He ducked quickly, laughing as Hermione threw a pillow at him. "What did he even do last night, anyway? I never heard."

"Said he saved me from the Manor back then," Hermione grunted, collapsing next to him on the sofa. He whistled lowly.

"Shit. I'm gonna kill him."

"Join the motherfucking queue."

Neville chuckled and stroked her forearm, tracing his fingers over a long-remembered scar. They were quiet for a moment, caught in memories they didn't share and feelings they did. Hermione lived for these quiet moments Neville offered her, knowing she needed time to digest new information and to bury emotions. Eventually, Neville kissed her temple and stood, pulling on his staff robes.

"Come on, 'Mione, we're running late."

Severus looked down at the parchment in his hand, spelling the odds in to galleons.

"So that's two for no more detentions, ten for a firing, and twenty for another tri-wizard tournament. Any other suggestions?"

Flitwick shook his head as Sinistra stroked her chin. She looked up at him with an evil grin and he rolled his eyes hard at her.

"How much for she's retiring at the end of the year to live with Umbridge?"

"My house," Filius cackled.

"Jesus Christ, woman," Snape drawled, folding the parchment away, "just how bored of these meetings are you?"

"Sev. It's the first day. We've never had a meeting on the first day. This better not become habit." Sinistra leant back in her chair, fingers twitching. "Fuck I need a fag."

Snape chuckled and pocketed the parchment. Aurora was right, it was odd that Minerva had called a staff meeting so early in the term, though he was pretty certain the previous night's events in the Three Broomsticks would be mentioned. Leaning back, he glanced over at Weasley, who was seated at the window seat looking over the Quidditch pitch, tossing a quaffle in his hands. He looked anxious.

Eventually, Granger and Longbottom arrived. Granger flushed as she looked at him. Letting out a tight squeak, she almost ran to the far end of the room and hid herself in the spare armchair. Severus blinked and looked at Neville. The boy pulled a surprised face at him and shrugged, before sitting in the only spare seat. There was an uncomfortable, elephant shaped silence in the room, which only broke once Minerva entered.

"Right," she started, perching in her seat and looking down at them all over the top of her spectacles. "It's late so I'm going to make this quick. Duelling."

"Headmistress we weren't duelling, I -"

Hermione was silenced with a raised hand from the Headmistress.

"In the past. Duelling club, Professor," Minerva continued. "Of sorts." She paused and looked around at them all individually. "We're taking part in a new international duelling tournament. Between Professors. As a symbol of excellence in education."

"We are?" Snape huffed.

"The school is, yes. The tournament starts in Easter and each school needs to nominate four champions."

"But there are six of us in here," Neville frowned. "Who's not doing it?"

Here, the Headmistress smiled. "Filius."

The Charms professor jolted up, "Me?"

"Your reputation precedes you, Filius. As a duelling master you are to play host with myself."

"I'd be delighted," he responded, agreeing more with his grin than his words. Snape huffed a laugh and turned back to Minerva.

"The judging panel will consist of one representative of each country. As of yet they are undecided, but if any of you can convince a duelling champion to judge please do so and I will pass your nomination through to the Ministry."

"And the second?" Severus asked suddenly.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Who is the second person not to take part?"

There was a pause as the Headmistress shuffled in her seat. All was silent save for the soft thud of the quaffle landing in Ron's palm as he played with it. She glanced over at the window and looked back at Snape.

"Contested. I should like for Aurora to join Filius and myself as hosts. As it stands, however, the delegation from Ilvermorny have requested that Professor Weasley commits his time to matters of Quidditch, and that he not be involved."

Silence.

"Who?" Ron growled.

"The delegation from Ilvermorny, Professor," McGonnagal repeated, pausing when he turned and glared daggers at her.

"Who in particular," he gritted out.

A longer silence.

"I believe it may have been an acquaintance of yours, Ronald, a Miss Tallulah Shields."

The quaffle dropped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter details the history between Ron and Tallulah Shields, told from her perspective. This is where the warnings come in to play. If you just want plot, wait for chapter 8.
> 
> Thanks for reading so far, but the next chapter may be hard to write.


	7. Tallulah's story

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They say to write what you know.
> 
> This is what I know.

The weeks melted by. Students became more confident, scarves were wrapped tighter, rust leaves turned to snow. The Room of Requirement had been set aside as a duelling room, and Sundays found a combination of the four professors practicing. That Sunday, however, Severus had decided to take a break.

He sipped his tea, and readjusted his tie. Again. Grunting, he stood and paced around his office. He paused, and looked around. It was cold. He pulled the leather armchairs closer to the fire and conjured more faux sheepswool scatter cushions and tweed throws to warm them. A glance at the clock on the mantlepiece told him there were ten minutes to go. He positioned himself in his armchair, cupping his tea.

He didn't know if he was ready for this.

The night McGonnagal informed them of the duelling tournament, Snape had hatched a plan. Returning to his office, he floo-called the Potters, asking if they had ever heard of Miss Shields. Harry looked clueless, but then again, when didn't he? Ginny, on the other hand, had chewed on her lip until mumbling something about how Ron's ex-fiancée had screamed Miss Shields' name during one of their particularly vicious fights at the Burrow. Apparently, Miss Shields was a college friend of Jasmine's, and Ron had met her before he met Jasmine.

"She's an ex, then?" Severus had asked Ginny through the flames. "Miss Shields?"

Ginny shook her head.

"It didn't sound like it."

"I don't think so, Sev," Harry said. "Ron would have mentioned her if she was anything serious." He paused. "I do remember him talking about a night out with the Cannons once in Boston when they were on their world tour thing. He might know her from there if she's from Ilvermorny?"

"Hmm."

"Sev," Harry rubbed the back of his neck. "What is it? Do you think this Tallulah might have something to do with Hermione?"

"No, not Hermione. It's just... " He paused, searching for a clear path in his thinking. "There was something off about his reaction. I think - even if it can't explain what happened between your two friends - it could be an example of his hiding things from you." He paused again, this time searching their faces. "I think there is every reason to suspect wrongdoing on his part. As he is your brother and your friend, say the word and I'll stop digging."

"No," Ginny snapped, eyes burning brighter than the flames. Harry glanced over at her, clearly surprised at the venom in her tone. "If he's done something I want to know. Before he has the chance to hurt anybody else. Find out."

So, here he was. Waiting in dread like a naughty schoolboy waiting to serve his detention. Miss Shields had been quick to accept his invitation for a meeting. He remembered the look in her eyes when he had mentioned Ron's name. The pain. The hate. The resolution in her voice has she had declared, "It's time. But you owe me a tour of Hogwarts."

So, here he was. The floo flared. And here she was.

Tallulah Shields was nothing like he'd imagined. Sure, he'd imagined Jodie Foster simpering on a staircase, but that's just Aurora's fault for her obsession with muggle musicals. This Tallulah had the streamlined physique of a chaser, her raven hair pulled back in a tight braid. Her hazel eyes reflected the light of the floo as it faded behind her, and a genuine smile illuminated her face as she extended a hand to Severus.

"Professor Snape, I guess?" He shook her hand enthusiastically, finding himself feeling extremely comfortable in her company.

"Severus, please," he pleaded sincerely. "It's so lovely to meet you, sorry for asking you to come all this way."

"Oh, what's a couple of fireplaces?" Tallulah laughed, "these new international floos are fantastic, don't you think? It's about time we came up with a solution to intercontinental travel, I mean the no-majes did do it a hundred years ago so it's about time, y'know?"

He chuckled, then noticed she was brushing soot off bare arms.

"Oh, you must be cold, can I get you anything? A jumper? A drink?"

She tilted her head till her ear reached her shoulder, pinning him with a curious look.

"A jumper?"

He laughed and gestured at his own deep green knit. She barked out a quick laugh and covered her eyes with her hand.

"Oh man, you mean a sweater! No thanks, I'm good. I'd love a coffee though, if you have any." Severus noticed the twang as she said coffee and smiled, before summoning her a cup.

"Well, if you change your mind about the sweater let me know, I'm afraid the dungeons are cold here and I do have quite a lot to ask you."

There was a long pause as Tallulah sipped her coffee. He noticed her glancing at the chairs and gestured for her to sit. He watched as she gathered her leggings-clad legs beneath her and curled up on the guest armchair. She cupped her coffee and stared at him for a while.

"This stays between us?" she eventually asked. Shit. That's not what he'd wanted to hear. To avoid shuffling on his feet and giving away his discomfort, he sat and crossed one leg over the other, cupping his coffee in a conscious imitation of her body language.

"May I ask why?"

"I mean," she sighed deeply, "I've worked so hard to forgive him, to forget. I never wanted anyone to know what happened, I didn't want to ruin his career, but it just came out in conversation one night and I-" she let out an exasperated breath and ran her fingers through her fringe, pulling strands from her braid. He waited for her to continue, watching the torment playing out on her face. "You know what, no. I didn't come all this way to censor you. He's a teacher now, things are different." This time, she pinned him with a glare. "Tell who you want. But leave my name out of it."

He raised his coffee cup in salute. "You have my word."

Another long pause.

"Something tells me, Professor, we're going to need something stronger than coffee."

"Tallulah, please," she echoed back at him, smiling, "and yeah... D'ya'll have any bourbon?"

He nodded, walking over to pour her a glass of Buffalo Trace. She grinned at the muggle drink and, with a wink, transfigured her scarf in to a burgundy quidditch jumper. He noticed she was getting comfortable, and quickly sat.

"So, shall I begin?"

He nodded, suddenly aware of his racing heart and the crackling fireplace as she sighed once more, fuelled herself up on bourbon, and launched in to a monologue as rehearsed and precise as an Ilvermorney quidditch tactic.

"I'm not going to lie to you, Severus, I never thought I'd do this. Tell you this story. Well, not you in particular, just any stranger I suppose. I never thought I'd have to. My history with Professor Weasley is very much that. History. It's not something I ever try to think about, or think about much, really. It's more like a phantom. It's like Proust said, memories can be summoned by the taste of a madaleine. Something like that. Except, in my case, they're brought on by words. Sounds. Situations. I was resolved to forgive him, to move on. Our history has had no impact on my career, or my relationships, or myself... Unless you count panic attacks brought on by the memories, but I don't so you shouldn't. No, I'm only telling you because he's here. He's a professor. And of sports for pete's sake. I was surprised when I heard your boss was putting his name down for the duelling team. He doesn't deserve it. And I, God, I would love to kick his ass, but I just know the second you put me in that room with him I'll be gone. No, not like that. I'll still be in the room. Present. But I won't be there, you know? I'll be there.  
"It was years ago. The week before Halloween. We were freshmen. You can imagine what that time of year is like in the States. The whole place goes mad. There was this one nightclub on campus, The Place, ingenious name, I know. They had a night there in Wednesdays that was mainly for the sports teams, and yeah, this was the closest Wednesday before Halloween so we were going all out. I went along with the Ilvermorney quidditch team, I'd only just joined a few weeks beforehand and was desperate to impress. There was some dumb dress code I remember, cops and robbers or pirates or some dumb shit like that. We'd been in the quidditch bar before hand for predrinks and all the freshman got tied to seniors around the ankle and then we had to hobble over to the club. Bonding or something, I can't remember what the excuse was, I just remember the bouncers were having none of it and split us all up as soon as we got in. I clung on to the only other quidditch freshman I knew at that point, Sara. We were so intimidated. I remember her wanting to go hard or go home, and we were in the queue for more drinks, arguing about whether she meant it literally or not - go home I mean. Either way, we were drunk, and the music was genuinely good, and I was having a brilliant night dancing on my own and trying to get her to dance with me. She only joined in once Troy showed up, god she had a crush on him. He lived in the floor below me and had been in my dorm earlier that day looking for the shortest skirt I owned and a handbag. He was with the football team, and they were going out as British schoolgirls. I never quite understood why, but your Chudley Cannons were hanging out with them and they thought the schoolgirl costumes would be fun. Makes no sense to me, I mean you'd think the Cannons would be out with our lot from quidditch but I think they wanted to experience American sports and they said hanging out with us would skew their bias if they wanted to scout any of us or some bullshit diplomatic excuse like that. Anyway. That's how I met Ron. Drunk. Him dressed as a schoolgirl. God I thought it was fucking hilarious. I thought the night had just gotten so much better, you know? Here was Troy wanting to spend time with us, and my opportunity to set him up with Sara, and he was with only one other person, so I could pretend to be wanting to get to know Ron while Troy and Sara hooked up. Fuck that sounds pervy but at the time it's what I thought she wanted.  
"The club lights came up pretty soon. I suggested we all went back to mine as I had drinks left over from another night out and it was close to everyone else's dorms. God that was the single most reckless suggestion I've ever made. Up to this point, my memories are hazy and fogged with alcohol, but I remember everything from leaving the nightclub clear as day."

Tallulah took a breath, more drink, continued.

"We staggered home, really. Troy and Sara were joined at the hip, naturally, I was so happy. I told them I was going on ahead to unlock the bedroom door. I never found out what happened to Troy and Sara. The second I kicked my shoes off, I heard a door lock behind me. That's the sound I mentioned before, the one that brings back memories? The click of a door locking. And I was a freshman. I'd lived in that room for three weeks. I didn't even know the door could lock.  
"Everything was so quiet. I turned to see how the door had locked and how I could unlock it to make sure the others could come in when suddenly there were two rough hands on my shoulders pushing me backwards on to the bed. I tried to open my eyes to see what was going on but my top got pushed up over my head and the material wrapped around my wrists, trapping me. I fought to pull it off my wrists and threw it on the floor, needing my arms to push whoever was in there with me off. That's when he started panting. His weight lifted off me and I thought he was leaving so sat up, but he pushed me back down with one hand and pulled my pants down with the other. Turns out he'd just been leaning back to pull down his underwear. I still didn't know who it was, I couldn't pull my eyes away from the wall on the left. I guess that was my mind's way of letting me not witness what was happening. I suddenly felt him push in and started screaming. I don't know what scream it was, it didn't sound like a noise I'd ever made before, and I'd only lost my virginity the week before on another one-night stand so didn't know if it was a good scream or not. Fuck, I sound like a slut but I'm not, I promise. I was just drinking away the loneliness of moving away from home and being your typical partying freshman. But that scream. That got him talking, got him moaning and telling me 'fucking scream for me'. I knew then he thought I wanted it and shouting wasn't going to get him to stop so I resorted to violence. I tried scratching him, digging my nails in as hard as I could to make him bleed or flinch or feel even an ounce of the pain I was feeling. Nope. He loved it. Begged for more, for me to "keep scratching me, god you like it rough don't you'. I gave up then. Started to think he was right, that I wanted it, that I'd given off some signal to him that I wanted this. That I deserved what was happening to me because I'd drunkenly invited two friends and a stranger back to my dorm for an after party, I mean, surely that's code for I only wanted him to come back and fuck me, right? God he was relentless. I looked at him then. He was ugly. Red hair falling everywhere, red face screwed up, eyes burning a whole in my uncovered chest. He slammed his lips on mine and again I tried to hurt him by biting so he moved away and started biting my neck, my ear. Eventually he stopped moving. He still hadn't said anything other than those two comments I just told you about. He sat up, leant against the wall, and pulled me up by my hair. He slammed my mouth onto his dick - he'd put a condom on at least, I can still remember its taste, its smell, the feeling of it on my tongue. He used the hand in my hair to control my movements, grunting above me until he came. He threw me down on to the bed and left. That's when I realised that those two comments are all he said to me the entire night.  
"I think I must have lain in bed for a good twenty minutes, naked, scared he was going to come back. I have no idea what time I went in to the shower, or how long I was in there scrubbing, but when I came out my skin was red and bruised, and I only had two hours until my 9am lecture. The club closed at 2, so that's a good five hours between being happy and being... Whatever I am now."

A heavy silence filled the room.

"And that's how I know Ron Weasley."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't re-read this. Don't think I ever will, so apologies for any mistakes!


End file.
